Rosetta Stone
by TheLocket
Summary: The Weasleys are off to Egypt, to learn about Curse Breaking and enjoy spending the summer together as a family. Unfortunately, far from the Ministry and the power of Gringotts, the Weasleys are about to discover how dangerous a job Curse Breaking is.
1. Arugula

"On the count of three?"

Mrs. Weasley wrapped an arm tighter around her youngest son's neck while patting her frizzy hair self-consciously. As his mother's arm wound its way around him, he wondered for a moment how he was able to get a sufficient supply of air through her mother-bear grip, but did his best to ignore that enigma and instead smile and wave at the tourist who had raised his father's camera. After counting down and snapping the photo, the man returned the camera to a grateful Mr. Weasley who enthusiastically began telling him about the family's recent wonderful luck and introducing a somewhat bashful Bill like a game show candidate. Bill shook the obliging tourist's hand briefly before turning back to his family. Ron was already doing his best to ignore the story hist father was forcing upon the friendly photographer; as exciting as the lottery win had been, hearing about it for the umpteenth time had somehow cheapened it. Bill seemed to realize what his youngest brother was thinking, and meandered over after he had graciously and skillfully extricated himself from his father's garrulous conversation. He wandered towards his family, which was mulling around in tight-knit groups. His feet scuffed up desert sand. He liked the feeling of walking through it, liked the steady reminder of the sun that beat on his shoulder blades. It was clear that his mother didn't; she was over by the twins, fussing with their sun hats and reminding them to maintain sunscreen charms hourly to protect their fair skin. Ron was standing slightly apart, his slender, awkward limbs askew. He looked strangely like a long-legged waterbird, awkward on the earth, always out of balance, somewhat angry at being grounded. The ridiculous sun hat, complete with the Egyptian attire that his father had bought not five minutes after the Portkey did not help make him look less ridiculous.

Ron was watching his father, with a familiar child-like sullenness that Bill remembered from his own tween years. Hearing Mr. Weasley spew those same, familiar sentences, ones that had been quoted in _The Prophet_ and repeated to aunts and uncles alike, Ron was reminded of Hermione, of the way she regurgitated her facts with the same accidental fastidiousness, each turn of phrase and iota of tone a carbon copy of the original. With Hermione, it was a question of correctness, of science. But a family vacation shouldn't be that. For once, Ron wanted to interrupt and change the story, or at least remind his father that the trip wasn't over: it had barely begun.

"Dad's at it again," Bill informed his younger brother, rumpling his hair with surprising affection and perception. Ron scowled up at him; whether he was upset about the ruffling or the chatty father, Bill wasn't quite sure.

"I noticed," Ron snapped. So it was the father, then. "Aren't we going to actually _do_ anything besides tell people about what we can do?" Ron was trying not to whine, but three straight days of travel, publicity, and his father's inane repetitions of his anticipation had made him crabby. It was time to stop talking about the opportunity and start using it.

"I don't think Mum and Dad would even notice if we snuck off," Ginny offered impishly, her eyes raking the pyramid-strewn horizon as she paced over to her brothers. She seemed somewhat at ease in the new climate, confidently wearing the gauzy black veil her mother had strapped over her face. As the hot, dry wind whipped up, it stuck to her sweaty skin and she occasionally batted it away, but she took it all in stride. It made Bill strangely proud and partially afraid – an adaptable twelve-year-old. Despite her past year (which must have been hell) she was standing there in a strangle place, surveying the land like Hatshepsut, shading her eyes against the sun and standing defiantly tall despite the sand that threatened her footing.

"And that's where you're wrong," laughed Bill. "They notice everything… or at least, Mum does…"

He smiled at his younger siblings. It was strange to think that he had once been there age, had once been a weedy thirteen-year-old, struggling with freckles that didn't quite suit the face he had been trying to grow into. The two of them – the two children, really – turned to glance at the aforementioned woman, who was now undeniably bickering with the twins. As the wind whipped up, scattering handfuls of sand into their faces, Ron and Ginny couldn't quite hear their mother's words – but her exasperation was apparent through every jerky motion of her short, stubby limbs.

"Mr. Weasley," came a voice husky, feminine behind Bill. He watched with the residue of some adolescent humor as his two younger siblings jumped in surprise, but quickly rearranged his expression into a business-polite. It was, after all, his colleague that addressed him.

"Please, Neti, call me Bill," he reminded her. She glared at him, arching a sleek black brow at his impertinence. "It will only confuse everyone," he muttered to her, indicating all the other Mr. Weasleys with a sweeping gaze. He hoped that, with a plausible explanation, she would revert to a more informal tone.

She seemed to think this over as Ron and Ginny surveyed her. Bill knew that the slant to her full lips meant that she was ready with some clever quip, but (whether it was the language boundary that prevented her comment or the fact that his child-like siblings were around) she remained silent. Unlike the decidedly British-pale Weasleys, Neti wore no head covering. Her bronzed skin seemed to absorb the sun, as though refusing to be daunted by the scorching heat; Ginny scowled to herself and wiped away another trickle of sweat that stuck her face-covering to her once more.

"Of course, _Bill_," she corrected herself stiffly, her Egyptian accent making some noises into musical, husky syllables. Instantly he was glad that he had used the shortened version of her name; the idea of her addressing him as "William" for the next few weeks was ludicrous.

Bill realized belatedly that his family had not been introduced to her. Ron was staring at her as though she was the last chocolate frog card that would complete his collection, his jaw slightly slack and his eyes unfocused and wide. Bill considered his younger brother's reaction, and then turned to reassess Neti. Of course, she must look strange to his family. Like most curse-breakers, she wore all black, from her shiny dragon's hide boots to the clingy ebony top that exposed the bare arch of her bronze collarbone. She wore a look of continual displeasure, as though disgusted that her desert would be populated by such pale, ginger foreigners. All of this was familiar to Bill; Neti was at least a third generation curse-breakers – and it was entirely probable that the line went back even farther than that. He was always going to be an outsider to her, and his family was the nth degree of invaders to the Egyptian Neti who could probably draw her line back to the New Kingdom.

"You must be Bill's partner," Mrs. Weasely hobbled over, stumbling over the sand. Although her polite tone was still marred by her frustration towards her cavalier children, she did her best to smile genially at the dark, slender figure that was silhouetted against the reflected glare of the sand. As she used her left hand to shade her eyes against the sun, she extended the right hand to shake. Neti regarded it haughtily for a moment, as though disgusted by the pale, chubby fingers, and then crossed her arms decisively.

"We should go inside now."

She addressed Bill without looking at him, and it was clear by her commanding tone that her suggestion was merely a politely-worded order. Ron was staring up at her in pure adulation as Ginny scoffed to herself; the twins had staggered over and were whispering to each other; Charlie and Percy were both trying to look her over in a manner they probably felt extremely stealthy and furtive – and perhaps would have been if Neti were not a curse-breaker trained to unravel ancient Egyptian spells daily. Bill resisted the urge to place his head in his hands, but instead offered Neti an apologetic glance; she pursed her lips and sauntered off, her dark raven's hair whipping in the wind. It was the wind that had Neti heading for the nearest building, the lodge at which the Weasleys were staying. Otherwise she would have avoided the lodge, the structure built in the style of the Romans with tall columns that had been painted to look old. Everything probably grated on her interpretation of her identity, from the anachronistic art to the paint that was dabbed on the walls to make them look old. It was, in its very essences, a mockery of her history built to attract the tourists she hated.

Bill could see her walk under the overhanging roof and stand by the door. Her slender hip jutted out in a way that said she was very, very angry. Bill smiled to himself in humorless disbelief. This was going to be an interesting visit.

"C'mon, she's right," he told his family finally, raising his voice over the wind. "It's very likely that we'll have some bad weather soon and trust me, inside is the best place for us all."

* * *

After some wrangling, his parents managed to get the whole clan inside, where an angry Neti was sulking by the front desk, chattering quickly in Egyptian to the clerk behind the desk.

"Not a very happy girl, is she," Mrs. Weasley muttered to Bill, pursing her lips disparagingly. Bill hesitated, staring at Neti's back. He could tell that she had heard; they hadn't spent six months together narrowly evading death and cracking curses without him learning how to read her body language. He could see now by the way that she set her shoulders, stiffening them slightly as though to protect her neck, that she was very, very put off by his mother's reproachful comment. She continued pacing as the concierge skittered into the back room, most probably to find the Weasleys' room keys.

"She's a highly trained curse-breaker, Mother," he told her, trying not to sound reprimanding, "and we're trespassing on her hospitality." Neti was now gesturing wildly at the hotel worker; apparently the keys he had found her were not sufficient.

Bill sighed to himself, seeing how his mother was staring, her brown eyes wide in shock at Neti's commanding.

"She just takes a while to warm up to people," he muttered.

Across the room, Bill could see that Neti shoot him a dark look over her shoulder between her angry comments that had the poor man bowing obsequiously as he fled, yet again, into the back room. She did not appreciate his polite lies – but she also did not know Molly Weasley.

"Give her a chance," he said hurriedly. But even as he spoke he fought the sinking feeling: she was never going to get along with his family, just as she was never going to get along with him. Mutual respect went far enough in the field – perhaps even more than enough – but when his family (and his mother) was in town, respect wasn't going to be enough.

"I don't see why we need her," Mrs. Weasley huffed, very clearly embarrassed by the rude treatment she was receiving. How could this twenty-something Egyptian girl already hate her? Or perhaps it was, how can my poor son have to work with this ungrateful trollop who can't even wear a complete shirt to meet my family?

"It's Gringotts policy that we work in pairs. And believe me, Mum, she's saved my neck more than a few times."

This seemed to brighten Mrs. Weasley's view of the girl; she huffed to herself, somewhat contrite.

"Well at least you could teach her some manners, really Bill."

Neti was now accepting the key grudgingly; the manager seemed near tears.

"I'm sure it's just a language thing," Bill lied quickly, still staring with disbelief at Neti's successful capture of keys that she was jangling triumphantly. "English isn't her native tongue."

Immediately Mrs. Weasley softened, trading disapproval for motherliness.

"Well why didn't you say so, Bill?" she asked, nudging him with a pudgy hand in exasperation. She waddled off to go talk to her husband, but would not get a word in edgewise, as he was now relaying their story quite animatedly to the clerk behind the counter who was loading their bags onto a red velvet cart. Bill noticed that his father now had the picture they had taken outside and was waving that around as well.

Bill sighed, reminding himself that their stay was not permanent, and wandered back over to his youngest siblings.

"Enjoying yourselves yet?" he asked them. Ron made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, his eyes lingering on the fountains along the far wall of the room in boredom.

Ginny was staring at the threshold of the main door. She had removed her face covering when they had entered the lobby, and Bill could see her pale eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Something wrong?" he asked her.

"That symbol," she said, looking at the carved shapes along the posts of the doorway. "It's a shield charm, isn't it."

Bill was surprised by her quickness, by the lack of hesitation in her tone.

"Yes," he replied quickly. "It's an anchor. Once activated, it serves as a sort of tether for the charm."

"Some say that's where hieroglyphics emerged from," Neti murmured. Ginny flinched; in her fascination with the carved symbols, she hadn't noticed Neti's arrival. "You're a very clever girl," Neti crooned, her sultry, foreign voice low - and dangerous. Bill knew that look; it was the way Neti had glanced over the shepherds that had – falsely – told them that the pyramid had been de-spelled years ago. It had almost been a look of begrudging respect, like Neti was impressed by their lies. Now she was watching Ginny in the same way, with careful approbation... Or perhaps Bill was just over-analyzing everything, and his family had made him crazy like they always did. Perhaps he was ready for someone to disapprove, ready to be the hand-me-down Weasleys, _those people_ with red hair and freckles. He shook his head to clear it. Her dark eyes always seemed guarded, he reminded himself; it was just her way.

Ginny glanced up at the woman, trying to decide if her tone was colored by derision or condescension.

"Thank you," she finally replied, still watching Neti's expression carefully. The woman stared back evenly.

"Your room is ready," Neti told Bill without moving her gaze from Ginny's petulant face. She held out the keys languidly; Bill took them silently. "I suppose that father of yours will continue speaking through sundown, but there's no reason for this entire flock to remain in this tacky lobby."

She gave Ginny a final look and then floated off without another word, her hips swinging impishly.

"We should follow her," Bill told his siblings, and, after a moment's hesitation, strode off down the corridor after the slender black form.

"I don't trust her," Ginny told Ron.

Ron shrugged, finally able to tear his eyes away from the dancing water.

"Did she say anything about food?"

* * *

Not surprisingly, Ron was the first to dinner.

"I'm starving," he said, sitting hurriedly.

Neti was lurking at the head of the table, almost weightless in her languorous lingering. She stared disapprovingly at Ron, who was already seated with his silverwear strewn across his dinner plate and his napkin tucked into his collar.

"I may be unfamiliar with English traditions," Neti began slowly, turning to a Mrs. Weasley who smiled helpfully. "But isn't it considered rude in your country as well to not break bread _together_?"

She was looking at Mrs. Weasley with a look of cool indifference that may have been better suited for a certain Slytherin professor; the look kind expectation had slid off of Mrs. Weasley's face. She hurried over to Ron and quickly pulled him upwards from under his armpits as she had when he was three.

"Mum!" he protested, fighting to find his balance. The whole family froze, and the line between Neti and the Weasleys almost tangible, a ribbon of tension unfurling between the two of them.

"What are we waiting for," Charlie called jovially, bounding into the room, ignorant to the dividing line. He seated himself carelessly next to Ron and picked up his utensils. "Let's eat!"

Ron removed himself from his mother's grip and seated himself, scowling. Mrs. Weasley found her seat at the other head of the table and sat, snapping her napkin around violently. Neti seemed to look over stocky Charlie, the Charlie who could tame dragons, and then swallow her acerbic comment. Apparently he was a foe that she did not wish to engage with, not someone who could be easily dispatched with a judgmental glare or a sarcastic comment. She lowered herself into her chair smoothly, her eyes never leaving Charlie, who had recently discovered the never-ending bread basket and was happily chomping at it like an enthusiastic horse. Ginny watched Neti and was embarrassed to discover how disconcerted she was by the fluidity with which she moved.

Bill came into the courtyard a few moments later, jogging, still clutching the letter he had just opened.

"I'm afraid they weren't able to wait for you," Neti sneered from her place at the head of the table. Bill checked his stride, surveying his family with surprise as he shoved the letter into his breast pocket. His mother gave him a cynical glare as she slowly buttered a roll; she inclined her head towards Neti, who was sitting like a queen in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, her slender back rigidly straight, as though fearing that the back of the chair could burn her.

"That's alright," he said, trying keep his tone light as he slid into the chair at Neti's right hand. Neti pursed her lips, but once again held back whatever thought had occurred to her. She looked like the words that she caught in her mouth were causing her pain, though, through the first half of the meal as the Weasleys boisterously fed themselves and each other, as Mrs. Weasley pestered her youngest to have more greens and her eldest to eat more, as Mr. Weasley began repeating the story to the waiter who came to refill his water glass, and as Bill maintained a constant stream of apologetic glances in her direction. Her bronze face remained still as a statue, as a bust of her namesake. Only her thick, black lashes moved, as they fluttered only as a result of the breezes that stampeded through the courtyard, their violence muted by the four walls of the surrounding lodge. Occasionally Ginny was able to look away from Neti's bronze, Machiavellian face. Upwards, she could see the sand whipped around in the winds, forming strange whirlwinds, shapes that she imagined into shapes, into creatures. She could see those tethering hieroglyphs carved along the roof, forming impenetrable charms that kept the sand and most of the wind out of the courtyard. She traced the lines of the charms and the carved hieroglyphics that crisscrossed the ribbons of magic. The Ministry back home would have conjured a protective covering and hidden it; it was surprising the way the magic here was freestanding, linked back to carved images on the columns and roof.

As she checked on Neti, she realized that the Egyptian occasionally caught her glance and traced her eye line upwards to the roof with a sort of begrudging respect. It made her nervous, to imagine those dark eyes on her, watching her. She found herself poking around the remnants of her salad nervously, fearing catching the critical glance but too afraid to stop from glancing over.

"Not a fan of arugula?"

Ginny jumped slightly, surprised to hear Charlie's voice so close to her ear.

"Huh?"

"You're segregating your salad," Charlie pointed out, jabbing his fork towards her plate and speaking through a full mouth of greens.

"Oh," Ginny remarked, catching a sideways glance from Neti, who was apparently fascinated by her eating habits.

"It is sort of like rabbit food, isn't it," Charlie muttered out of the corner of his mouth while watching the waiter as though to make sure he couldn't overhear, a covert lettuce dialogue. Ginny offered a laugh; it sounded fake the moment is rang through the dry air. Charlie gave her a rakish grin, the way he had when she was a toddler and he had taught her dirty words, but that too seemed to have an undertone. Worry, perhaps. Worry for the year he had left her at Hogwarts, as if he could have lingered in the stone corridors for a few more years to protect her from the terror of Tom Riddle.

Ginny glanced down at her plate, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of Neti's eyes on her. She traced the fingers of the green leaves that cut across her salad plate with forced interest. The feeling of Neti lurking, of following her, it felt too familiar. She shook herself to remove the feeling, like a half-forgotten nightmare hovering in her peripheral memory, a fearful deja vu.

"Don't think the elves could ever get this through to the Great Hall, there'd be a mutiny," laughed Charlie. Ginny smiled up at him, relieved by the easy, natural cheeriness of her brother. Then again, he was used to his conversations being rather one-sided, and perhaps it was relieving that Ginny didn't breathe fire.

"I wouldn't be surprised," scoffed Ginny, glaring across the table at Ron who was stuffing his face non-stop. "That lot doesn't even seem to realize what they're eating."

Charlie glanced over at Ron, who was now eating bread in the same mouthful of his second serving of salad that he had pilfered from his mother.

"I remember those years," Charlie laughed, staring at Ron. "Not fondly," he clarified quickly, turning back to Ginny who shared a half-hearted laugh with him. And somehow with Charlie smiling over her, his stocky frame imposing and solid, Ginny wasn't as worried about the possibility that her other brother's coworker was glancing at her occasionally. She took a breath in to steady herself, and enjoyed the dry perfume of Egypt for the first time since their arrival.


	2. Quail

Ginny woke to the noise of the curtains being drawn back and found herself bolt-upright in a strange bed with her head throbbing and an unfamiliar figure silhouetted against the sharp morning light. Her fingers were already around her wand under the covers when the figure spoke.

"I hope you slept well."

The voice was husky and familiar, as was the way in which each word was spoken with a deliberate, practiced slowness, like the speaker was unfamiliar with English. As the sun glinted off the long, dark hair, and her groggy mind put together the pieces, Ginny sighed and fell back into the pillows.

"What are you doing in my room, Neti," she grumbled, pulling strands of her hair off her face as she burrowed into the silken sheets. The slender woman snaked over from her pose by the window, her movements slithering and languid, until she stood by Ginny's bedpost.

"Your family is down at breakfast," she replied instead, smoothing back her perfect, dark hair in a casual flipping motion that was distinctly feminine but surprisingly assertive. Ginny glared at her, incensed by the cursebreaker's coolness – and by her own comparative frumpiness.

"I'll be down in a minute," Ginny muttered, rolling over. Through her frizzy cloud of hair, Ginny could see Neti cross her arms. Today she was wearing all black, again, and her bare forearms against the dark fabric were striking. Ginny glanced over and saw the green tunic her mother had laid out for her and only felt more resentful towards her brother's partner. For a breath she indulged herself and buried her face in the strangely satin pillows; when she looked up, Neti had vanished.

* * *

"Where'd that Neti disappear to?" asked Mrs. Weasley. She kept her face blank, but Bill wasn't fooled – the rivalry he had tried to avoid was only intensifying.

"She's getting Ginny," Bill replied, trying to avoid the confrontation that he knew was coming. "Pass the toast?"

Down the table, Percy silently levitated a piece and sent it zooming down the table. It nearly clipped George in the nose, as the latter was climbing halfway across the table to thread a cord through the silverwear across the table from him. The flesh-colored string was attached to what looked like a human ear, and George was trying to position it so that it was directed a nearby table of sunglass-wearing businessmen.

"Watch it, Perce," George grumbled; he had drawn back quickly to avoid the carbohydrate missile and, as he staggered to find balance, was disappointed to discover that all his attempts at concealment were made futile – the businessmen offered the Weasley banquet table a few apathetic glances and then continued their muted discussion.

"It's not my fault if you find yourself unable to remain seated while at meals," replied Percy stiffly. He was suddenly very interested in buttering his toast.

"Sorry, Head Boy," replied Fred. "We forgot we were in the presence of royalty."

Both the twins bowed towards Percy, flourishing identically as though removing invisible hats and doffing them at their older brother. Percy sniffed and pursed his lips at his buttered toast. The threat neutralized, the twins resumed their attempts to feed the ear to the nearby table, only to break off in cries of anguish as the string attached to the back of the ear split over the distance.

At the other head of the table, Arthur was enthusiastically telling the waitress the family's story, only to be diverted by the arrival of Charlie, who was covered in sweat and sand.

"For goodness's sake, Charlie," Mrs. Weasley chided from across the table. "This is a restaurant. You should at least clean up a bit."

"They don't mind," Charlie laughed, smiling rakishly at the waitress that had been claimed by his father's story; she blushed and looked down, embarrassed by his flirting. In an easy movement, Charlie was seated at the table and filling his plate with pastries. But before he could raise a muffin to his mouth, he was engulfed in a whirlwind of sand; across the table, Mrs. Weasley had shot a spell at him, which removed the sand and scattered it around him.

"Jeez, Mum!" he chuckled, shaking the grit off his breakfast. Mrs. Weasley made a harrumphing noise and resumed her meal.

"Where have you been?" asked Ron quietly. He looked like he had shrunken into his chair, unable to get a toe into the conversation with Bill or the argument between Percy and the twins.

"Dune surfing," replied Charlie, shaking the sand out of his hair like a dog. Luckily, the room was spelled against sand; Ron watched in fascination as the particles were drawn to the floor and then vanished between the stones of the courtyard floor.

"How was it?" asked Ron. He seemed to continue shrinking further into the wooden back of the chair, sounding more like a mouse as the war across the table intensified: Fred and George were jinxing utensils to dance around Percy as Mrs. Weasley began scolding them in a tone loud enough to draw more irritated stares from the businessmen.

"Very dangerous, I'm sure," interrupted Mr. Weasley with a firm glance at Charlie.

"Yes," Charlie replied stiffly, although his eyes danced mischievously. "Very dangerous."

Mr. Weasley sighed and reached for his water glass.

"But all the really fun things are dangerous," whispered Charlie conspiratorially, winking at Ron. Mr. Weasley choked on his water; Charlie calmly pulled out his wand and cast _anapneo, _managing to keep his face straight (although the corners of his lips twitched in amusement). The moment he was able to breathe again, Mr. Weasley began to scold Charlie, who listened politely as he surreptitiously charmed Ron's syrup to show little cartoon-like drawings of dune surfing.

* * *

"What did I miss?"

A frazzled Ginny fell into the chair next to Ron, her hair darkened by its dampness and her green tunic looking decidedly wrinkled.

"Nothing much," Ron replied through a mouthful of pancakes, looking behind Ginny nervously. "Wasn't creepy-Egyptian lady with you?"

"So you agree!" Ginny replied.

Ron shrugged.

"Well, they're cursebreakers, aren't they?" he asked darkly. "Gotta be ready to deal with anything. Although by the way she looks at us, you'd think she's just waiting for us to sprout extra heads – and even if we did she wouldn't be fazed at all."

"Tell me about it," Ginny muttered, helping herself to a few biscuits. "And the way she's just lurking everywhere… I swear almost hexed her when I woke up and she was just... there... in my room."

"Weird," agreed Ron, who was now filling his plate with sausage.

"But where _did_ she go?" Ginny repeated Ron's question, the meaning of his words finally sinking in. It was terrifying to not know where she was; it suddenly seemed inevitable that she would pop out somewhere and frighten them yet again.

"It you're talking about Neti," Bill asked from across the table, startling Ginny who had forgotten that she could be overheard, "she went to go get the camels."

"Camels?" asked Ron, shooting a worried glance at first his sister than his brother, the latter of who laughed kindly.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have fun. Tomorrow we'll be using their equivalent of Floo, but for today I thought it would be fun to see how they get around here."

"Where are we going?" That was either Fred or George from down the table; they had begun a powwow over the broken ear and were facing away from the table.

"The letter I got yesterday was from Gringotts," Bill told them, removing the crumpled parchment from his pocket and waving it around. "And it's authorized you all to join me and Neti to some of the more-famous pyramids."

"Does this mean if we find anything we can keep it?" asked Ron.

"No," laughed Bill. "All gold goes back to Gringotts, that's what they pay me for."

"But why not just keep it?" asked the other twin.

"Gringotts has an agreement with the Egyptian government which gives it monopoly on found gold. Not to bore you – it's basically politics. We could have a long discussion about the magical fine print in the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936… or we could discuss the joys of camel riding…" Bill said, standing slowly as he segued to a discussion of the day's activities. He raised a hand to indicate the corridor that lead to the main lobby and the front door. The clan quickly stood, Ron leaning over his plate to shove in a few final mouthfuls, and then they trooped off to the outdoors and the promise of adventure.

* * *

When they filed outside, Ron shaded his eyes against the sun and was surprised to discern the figure of Neti perched like a queen on a particularly stubborn-looking camel.

"Does she have to?" grumbled Ginny, angrily shoving her sun-covering on, upset by the tranquility of the Egyptian.

"I suppose," Ron replied, staring up at the imposing form.

"So: camels," Bill said, clapping and then rubbing his hands together excitedly.

"Does my foot go here?" asked Fred, who looked like he was trying to ride his camel sideways. It made a mooing noise at him angrily and tried to take a bite out of his poncho-like shirt.

"C'mere, Perce," George said, grabbing his unwilling brother, "we'll hoist you up."

Soon the twins were chasing an irate Percy, who was insisting that he could just walk, which quickly devolved into Mrs. Weasley chasing them chasing him. Neti scowled at the shenanigans, flipping her waterfall of hair over one shoulder in just the way that a cat whisks its tail impatiently.

"I'll meet you at the first temple," Neti told Bill, a sarcastic edge biting into her voice.

"Race you," offered Charlie, slinging himself into the saddle gracefully. Neti looked him over, cocked her head, and, after a moment's deliberation, struck her camel into a the semblance of a gallop. Charlie grinned and took off after her. Soon, the two had disappeared into a cloud of dust.

* * *

For a good five minutes, Ron refused to even go near the camels, especially after he saw the way his father's made a low, rumbling noise when its reins were yanked. Anything that growled was decidedly not a friend of his.

"Stop being such a sissy," muttered Ginny. She was frustrated with her own discomfort, with the way her toes were too short for the stirrups and the way she hesitated to strike the camel with the prod Bill had given her - and, as a result, was unsuccessful at urging the beast forward. Fred and George were trotting in circles around each other, and would have continued hexing Percy to keep him falling off had Bill not told them how easily camels were spooked by magic (another thing that had Ginny restless, as her wand had to be kept stowed in her tunic pocket).

When finally everyone was atop a camel, it then took another long while to get them moving in a forward direction; when Mrs. Weasley shook her reins, her confused camel began meandering backwards, which made the stubborn Mrs. Weasley only madder and the camel only more confused. Percy's camel was as jumpy as he was, and continually seemed to question its footing, which lead to Percy completely neglecting the reins and clinging to the saddle for dear life. Meanwhile, Fred and George were trying to make their camels do tricks, and seemed determined to get them to rear or buck or dance around like trick ponies.

Eventually, Bill casually slung himself off his camel in defeat and began leading the other camels by hooking all the reins in his hands. At this snail pace they took off across the dunes, where the sun glinted along the crests and blinded the Weasley caravan.

* * *

"How long do you think they'll be?"

"Quite long," Neti replied, calmly tying the camel up to a post and unloading a canteen from the saddle bags. As she worked her long hair fell across her face, a sheet of ebony. Charlie found himself tracing that hair, where it wound around her long, graceful neck and fell in loops to lie against the revealing plunge of her shirt, which was ever more revealing as she bent to secure the reins.

"Am I doing something wrong?" she asked, pausing as she tied the reins, flicking her full lashes upwards as she stared up at him. Charlie blushed, his freckles fading as red took over his cheeks.

"No, why would you think that?"

"You're staring," she replied, raising an eyebrow. But somehow, there was a teasing lilt to her pleasantly-husky voice.

"I don't think I was," Charlie replied nervously.

"You were," Neti replied confidently, straightening so that her face swung dangerously close to Charlie's. "But don't worry," she murmured, leaning in closer so that her breath brushed his neck, "I don't mind."

In a sinuous, languorous movement she turned and paced away from a pink-eared Charlie who was shaking his head and muttering to himself, trying not to watch the way her hips swung suggestively as she drifted away from him.

* * *

It seemed like an eternity of waiting by the camels, but Charlie felt tethered there by some strange honor, some unconscious idea that Neti was Bill's property. It was an arcane, chauvinistic idea, but try as he might to rationalize accepting Neti's flirtation, Bill found himself scowling into the reflected sun and waiting for his family instead of following the seductively twining shadow of Neti into the cool depths of the nearby temple.

"Sorry about the wait," muttered Bill, who was drenched in sweat and knee-deep in sand. He looked exhausted; Charlie hurried to offer him a canteen.

"I'm good," Bill replied, holding up the empty water bottle that was looped around his neck.

"We are Floo-ing back," muttered Ginny, who slid ungracefully off her camel into the steadying arms of her oldest brother.

"I second that," grumbled Ron as he was helped down by his father.

In a shared exhausted silence, the Weasleys paraded into the cool shadows of the temple. It was dark, but with a great whooshing sound, a match was lit by Neti. After a moment of holding the flickering light to her face, during which her bewitched-looking eyes met Charlie's confused pair and then Bill's jaded pair, she held it to a nearby oil lamp that was attached to the wall. As it lit, it cast a dancing light across the millennia old soot marks that stained the walls above it.

"This is the Temple of Dendur," Neti intoned quietly. Her voice, however, was easily heard; the Weasley family was, for once, silent. All were in quiet awe, except Bill, who was smiling to himself, relieved by their reverence. It would only have taken one muted critique from his mother or a hushed laugh from one of his brother's to anger Neti irrevocably. But luckily, they remained silent as Neti began her tale, her voice mellowing into a ghost-story tone.

"It was relocated here to protect it from Muggle construction that would have re-routed Nile waters into it; they believe they relocated to America as a demonstration of _gratitude_ " here her voice took on a sardonic edge, which she quickly muted in favor of her mysterious tone "—however, we managed to replicate it prior to its removal and relocate it to a better-suited resting place."

Neti began to wind her ways through the rooms, down the main corridor that was barely wide enough for half the Weasley family to pass through at the same time. At the far wall, the temple branched to the right and left, where twin tunnels returned to the main entrance. All along the walls, in scrolling borders, cartouches and hieroglyphics marched across the pale stone, reflecting the torchlight. Mr. Weasley went to light his wand, but Bill quickly gestured his disapproval, and as a result all wands remained in pockets. It was a gesture of respect that made Ginny feel panicked in an isolated, alienated way.

"The temple was built about fifteen years prior to the birth of Christ and remains an important paradigm of Egyptian temples. Although historians believe the temple was reserved for Isis, Osiris, and lesser chieftains…

The twins gathered around some writing, guffawing. They were pointing to some inscribed names in English, marks of ownership, carved names and clearly AD dates, demonstrations of English superiority and disruptions of the apparent legitimacy of the temple. Neti scowled and drew her wand; at the movement, the twins drew back abruptly, only to see the markings glow an electric blue and then distort into different shapes following Neti's silent flourish. The dates bent into flowing hieroglyphics, and the band of blue, glowing shapes spread across the temple, stork-like figures sprouting into lit shapes out of the sandy-colored stone.

"… the temple was actually a place of _heka_ or Egyptian magicking," Neti continued, now giving the twins a scathing glare that kept them sober for a few more moments. "However, the symbols were hidden from prying Muggle eyes."

"And this shape?" asked Ginny, from the northwest corner. She flinched again, this time feeling Neti's presence appear at her back before her voice answered her.

"Clever girl," Neti breathed, following Ginny's inquisitive glance to the tile with the carved geometric symbols. They clearly lacked the fluidity and pictographic qualities of the hieroglyphics and had drawn Ginny's gaze.

"A shield charm," Bill replied. Ginny did not flinch at his voice; she had heard his scuffed footsteps as he approached. Perhaps that was what was so unsettling about Neti's movements: their quiet, catlike quality. "If you look carefully, you can see that the square with the super-imposed triangle is filled by an invisible depiction of a man with both arms raised, fingers pointing skywards."

Bill waved his wand, and the pictographic hieroglyphic appeared in faint, glowing blue. Ginny watched it, drawn by the exotic, unknown quality of it all. The picture was distinctly Egyptian, with the classic profile depiction of the face contrasting the straight-on view of the chest and arms. Her eyes found the face of the man and traced it upwards to the headdress; instantly, in a moment of foolishness, she was reminded of a quail.

"That hieroglyphic can be loosely translated as 'a million' or 'many'," Bill explained, apparently unamused by the headdress that was so striking to Ginny. "It signifies the many shields that protect this temple. The shield is shown as the triangle, where the square is a representation of the temple itself."

"That's how anchors work, isn't it." Mr. Weasley had come up and had listened to the mini-lesson with grave interest. "Physical representations that strengthen the charm or spell."

"Yeah," Bill replied. "Many times, that's how we work to unravel curses. Usually—"

Neti made a noise in the back of her throat and Bill cut off abruptly.

"Anyone care for a refreshment?" she asked, saccharine sweetness melting into her normally-sharp voice.

And before anyone could ask for any more specifics on cursebreaking, she led them outside for some water and wine.


	3. Diamonds

Neti with a look of disgust of her attractive face was not an unfamiliar sight. In fact, Ginny found that the sneering downward tilt of her full lips and the cynical lift to a single eyebrow were almost as part of the Egyptian scenery as the Sphinx that occasionally crested the horizon. But the shocking sensation was almost an agreement, the way that Ginny felt a twinge of sympathy.

"You look like you're having trouble grasping this," Charlie chuckled. "I can't believe Bill didn't mention this."

Charlie nudged Bill with a burly elbow; Bill smiled, but the expression seemed a bit forced as he shrugged.

"I can't imagine you covering yourself in ashes," Neti replied, smirking at Bill, excusing his censorship.

"That's not quite how it works," interjected Charlie, his grin somewhat frozen on his scruffy face.

"Well," Neti smiled at Charlie, "I promise we do nothing that undignified here."

She got up in that languid, feline grace of hers and paced out from under the shadow of the impromptu tent the Weasleys had conjured. For a moment she shaded her eyes and glanced up at the clear blue sky; then she turned and upended her canteen into the sand. Her wand was out, and the stream of water sprinkled around her in an even circle. When the final drop hit, diamond droplets of water flew up in a liquid whirlwind around her until she had disappeared and the sand was still.

A wooshing noise drew the Weasleys to turn to look behind them, as Neti emerged from the sand, standing from a crouching position. It took Ginny a moment to realize that she was dripping diamond droplets of water, as though she was stepping out of a pool, drenched in water. In a moment, she had shed all water and was completely dry under the hot Egyptian sun.

"Amazing," muttered Mr. Weasley. "Linking through the Nile River instead of through the chimneys."

"More freedom," agreed Mrs. Weasley. "Not limited by homes or fireplaces."

"And much more _dignified,_" sneered Neti in an equally flirtatious and condescending manner, loping over languorously. In her casual movement she flipped out her hair, but this time it stemmed a shower of crystalline drops, a dizzying, hypnotizing suspension of Nile waters.

"And less spinning," remarked Percy, pursing his lips appreciatively and nodding to himself.

"Spinning?" inquired Neti superciliously, an eyebrow shooting towards her dark hairline. Percy blushed beet-red.

"Floo," he was only able to mutter, avoiding her dark, inquisitive stare, trailing his fingers in circles to demonstrate the effects of the British travelling system. Fred and George snickered at each other, picking up the scraps of Percy's failed conversation to arm their joke artillery. Neti watched them with fascination, her eyes trailing the family dynamics, dissecting, as always. She watched them, surprised to see the way they were soaking up ideas for future teasing. The method to their madness was fascinating, but cat-like Neti quickly switched her attention back to Charlie.

"Ready?" she asked, unfurling her hand towards him in a languid flourish.

Charlie looked around, grinned, and took her delicate hand. He grinned back at his family as she led him out into the bright sunlight.

"What do you think she's saying to him?" Ron asked Ginny quietly. Without turning to face him, Ginny glanced at the couple. The way that Neti slithered her hips towards Charlie in a single fluid motion, the way she cocked her head upwards to bare the long edge of her elegant neck. And, more alarmingly, the way he responded, leaning forward as his cheeks stained cherry-red.

"It's not what she's saying," Ginny corrected darkly, "it's how."

After a moment, Ginny's gaze drifted over to Bill, who was pacing irritably along the edge of the tent's shadow.

"And why…" she added, a quiet afterthought that Ron didn't quite catch.

* * *

Ginny stood shakily from the bent position the waters of the Nile had forced her into. It was surprising, the way the droplets ran off her skin, evaporating quickly and disappearing. It was unsettling also to have to trace the symbol of the destination rather than speak the name aloud. Although Neti had walked them all through the proper way to draw the hieroglyphic, Ginny was too startled by the way the Nile waters reacted to her touch and left a glowing blue trace to enjoy or appreciate the simplicity of the Egyptian system.

It came as a pleasant surprise, then, to find the entire Weasley assembled at dinner by sundown without hitch. Somehow Neti had found her way to the head of the table again, and in a strange reversal of roles, Ginny spent her evening watching Neti. She was surprised to find that the Egyptian no longer watcher her; instead, Neti's gaze lingered on Charlie, diagonal across the long banquet table, and then crept upwards to Bill who was perched, as always, at her right hand. Throughout the meal, as Neti picked at her food, Ginny found herself unable to prevent herself from staring.

"Ginny?" asked Ron. She could tell from his tone that he had repeated her name several times, and snapped back to her place halfway down the table with a jolt.

"Yeah," she said quickly. Ron gave her a look.

"You weren't listening to me."

"I was keeping an eye on creepy-Egyptian lady," Ginny muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Ron glanced down the table as though he had forgotten that she was there and rolled his eyes.

"If you two need some girl bonding time just let me know," he muttered sarcastically, "but until then, could you at least pretend to listen to me?"

"Yeah," muttered Ginny, but her eyes were already at the head of the table.

* * *

Ron liked to hang out with Harry and Hermione, because Harry knew how to sympathize and Hermione knew how to empathize. And although Harry Time because Harry's time, Ron knew that his self-centered lifestyle was built on a steady, eleven-year foundation. Hermione was Hermione, the best and the brightest at everything. And together, his two friends made it their business to overshadow him in every field. It didn't become a question of his domain, but rather when he would stray into Harry's accomplishments to try his hand inadeptly, or when he would attempt to offer insight Hermione had thought of years before.

But away from ever-resourceful Hermione and storybook-hero Harry, Ron was not the least observant person in the room: that was a tie between purposefully-ignorant Mrs. Weasley, who would have ignored any elephant in the room to protect her children's mistakes, and a very cross Percy who was playing the failed conversation with Neti over and over in his mind. Ron, on the other hand, saw what Neti was doing. The way she would occasionally offer Ginny a gloating, mothering glance between dainty bites of dates. The way she would glow at Charlie and then simmer at Bill. And, even though Neti probably didn't realize it, Ron recognized the way that she had also ensnared the affections the twins, although they showed their devotions by planning pranks to capture her attention.

Ron realized that she was gaining her footing, securing her own spider-web of control. But without Hermione to lecture and strategize and analyze, without Harry to be impulsive and instinctive, Ron could not fathom why. And soon, dessert was there to distract him and remind him that analyzing Neti was out of his domain, and without Harry or Hermione, he was just another Weasley, another fleck of red against the sun, and just another mouth to feed - so why not enjoy it?

* * *

"May I come in?"

Ginny looked up at the gentle knock on the door to see her mother peering into her room.

"Sure," she replied. But as she lowered the comb from her damp hair, she felt something in her stomach sinking, that sensation of gravity returning after a day of floating happily on new discoveries and successful attempts to try something different. A reminder of reality, pulling her down, rooted in the bottom of her stomach.

In her blue flowery bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, Mrs. Weasley looked strangled frumpy and careworm, her face pale and her hair drawn back in curlers. Something in her face looked resigned, like the intensity was gone from her eyes, leaving her face slack. Ginny watched in surprise as her mother seated herself on the side of the bed. She was shocked to realize that her mother's fluffy slippers didn't reach the ground, but instead swung above the wood floor.

"How are you doing?"

Ginny was surprised by the tenderness in her voice, but the softness. Usually, even in her concern, Mrs. Weasley was on the offensive, zealous and intense. But as she sat in her baby-blue bathrobe, swinging those ridiculous fluffy slippers across the wood floors, Molly Weasley was a mouse.

"I'm fine," Ginny replied, turning back to her mirror to fix her recently-washed hair. Despite Neti's confidence in the cleanliness of her travel, something about the Nile waters in her hair left a crawling sensation on her skin, like an oily residue painted across her.

"Your father and I have discussed this," her mother began slowly, "and we both understand if you'd like to return home."

"What?" snapped Ginny, turning to face her mother. Her furious amber gaze went unmet, as Mrs. Weasley found her slippers suddenly very interesting.

"It's not a sign of weakness to admit that you're…" Here Mrs. Weasley trailed off, searching for words.

"I'm what?" retorted Ginny, bristling.

Mrs. Weasley gave her daughter a concerned glance and considered her answer for a moment. Seeing the fire in Ginny's glance, she rapidly changed tactics.

"You've been through a lot in the past year," she reminded her daughter patiently. "Perhaps it would be best for you to spend this summer somewhere familiar… where you feel safe…"

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Ginny, snatching up her comb and yanking it through her hair.

Mrs. Weasley waited for a moment, perched ridiculously on the edge of Ginny's bed, looking decidedly out of place. Finally she stood, sighing, and shuffled slowly out of the room. Ginny watched her mother leave in the mirror, the comb frozen in her hair, biting her lip to keep the words behind her teeth.

* * *

Even after the soothing, clean waters of the shower, Ginny found herself tossing and turning in the unfamiliar satin sheets. Her legs skimmed, searching for a cool spot in the unrelenting summer heat. For several hours she found herself burrowing into her frustration and the cream-colored sheets, but as the clock's hands dawdled towards three in the morning, Ginny gave up on sleep and found herself pacing the unfamiliar spiral staircase down to the kitchens.

To her surprise, the room wasn't empty.

"Hey Ginny," a tired Bill greeted her, toasting her with a spoon filled with cereal.

"May I join you?" she asked shyly, pulling on the bow of her bathrobe. So many years apart, Bill almost felt like a stranger, a stranger that had moved to Egypt of all places. Memories of him were vague and fuzzy, all limited to summertime Quiddich games and Christmas presents. It felt like all her life, Bill had been away, off at Hogwarts or traipsing away to some country to find gold. Gold that he couldn't even keep. He was looking for something that would never be his.

"Be my guest," he replied, sliding over a chair with a flick of his wand. His expression told her that he wasn't completely ignorant of the thoughts that sprung up in her mind; perhaps he, too, was pondering the same memories.

Ginny twined over to the counter and helped herself to a bowl that the hotel staff had left out for insomniacs like the Weasleys. She poured wheat squares as Bill talked. They pinged off the bowl with a bell-like tone that drew her gaze and gave her something to watch as he spoke.

"Have you been enjoying yourself?" he asked. Her lips turned up slightly in amusement - he was almost slurring through the letters in exhaustion. "I have to admit –" here he broke off for a muffled laugh "— I was a _bit_ skeptical when Mum owled me about your visit. I mean, nothing against you guys... but I break into tombs and deal with curses for Merlin's sake... and I just... I could not imagine bringing you kids along with me."

When he said "kids," Ginny made a face into her full bowl of cereal but made no comment as she paced over to grab the bottle of milk. It shocked her with its coldness; she withdrew her hand, new-found respect for the magically charmed food in the kitchen, with the way the cereal re-filled itself and the milk remained cold enough to pull condensation out of the hot Egyptian air.

"And I worried about having the whole family together, because I bet you can't even remember when we all lived together in the same house. You have no idea what it's like to suddenly have everyone together… it's like being eleven again and waiting to go back to Hogwarts… And then to see that some of you guys have grown up so much... and dealt with so much..."

At this point Ginny didn't have the pretext of assembling her cereal, but had to slide into the chair next to Bill. Her eyes remained on the sugary squares as Bill spoke, trying to avoid the way he was suddenly staring at her inquisitively.

"But what I didn't realize," laughed Bill abruptly, turning away from her, "was that the problem wouldn't be _us_."

He was suddenly fascinated in his worn fingernails.

"It would be _her_."

That final word spoken in his voice gave Ginny a genuine shiver down her back. The syllable hung in the stale, hot air. Bill looked regretful; he quickly dropped his spoon and the loud clatter shattered the silence that had taken the room.

"I should get to sleep," he muttered, tossing his bowl like a frisbee at the sink; when it was near the surface of the sink, it seemed to descend slowly into the metal and become absorbed like the metal was a soap bubble. Ginny watched as, almost instantly, a clean bowl appeared on the counter, still glistening from its recent wash. Bill paused in the doorway to regard Ginny.

"You should too," he reminded her.

Ginny lingered the kitchen, swirling her spoon through the soggy remnants of her cereal and worrying about her family.

* * *

"Did you talk to her?"

At his voice Mrs. Weasley looked up from her magic ironing of her outfit for the next day; her husband was already lying in their bed, a book open on his knees and his wand levitating with a _lumos_ light to illuminate the pages of his muggle mechanic book. He didn't look up over his reading glasses as he spoke but instead kept his eyes on the page. But Mrs. Weasley wasn't fooled; she could tell that he wasn't paying attention to the description of spark plugs.

"You know her," Mrs. Weasley replied, her eyes still on her ironing. "She grew up with six older brothers. Of course she's going to be tough."

Finally Mr. Weasley looked up from the page and gave his wife a glance over his reading glasses; she was fussing with a wrinkle in clear aggravation that was causing the fabric to burn and smoke.

"And what do you think?" he asked.

"I think she's scared," Molly replied, tossing aside the garment in frustration. "I think she's scared and she doesn't know what to do about it."

Arthur tapped his fingers across the book, making a drum of the wad of pages.

"And what should we do about it?"

Molly looked tired when she finally turned to face her husband, her careworn face hopeless.

"What can we do?" she asked instead.

"Worry."

* * *

"I've been waiting for you."

"Neti?" asked Bill, tiredly rubbing his face.

"I figured you went to get a late night snack," she replied with a small smile. But after a moment her face fell. "Why didn't you invite me." She pouted her lip, attractive sulking.

"Because it's four in the morning," moaned Bill, pulling his shirt over his head and pacing slowly into the bathroom, exhaustion apparent in every movement.

"I stay up late," Neti purred, reaching behind her back to unzip her dress. The noise of the zipper called Bill's attention and he stumbled out of the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" he asked angrily, his bleary eyes shocked.

"Getting ready for bed," she replied, her eyes open in false innocence.

"Neti," he replied, now staggering into bed and throwing the comforter over his head. "Please leave."

She shushed him, stepping out of her dress.

"You're tired," she cooed at him, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. "Get some sleep."

And before he could protest, she slid into bed next to him.


	4. Dates

A/N: Sorry this update took so long - school takes a lot more time than I thought! But I do plan on continuing this story! And thanks for reading!

* * *

"What do you think this?"

Ginny held up a candy-coated nut-like piece of some unknown substance.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Ron. Ginny pointed across the table to a bowl and watched as Ron took a heaping handful. Ginny was still inspecting the specimen, holding it inquisitively to her face, as Ron began scooping them into her mouth. She offered him a look after his hand returned to his mouth for a third time without lag time, as though swallowing was unnecessary and he was just a machine of eating, like a vacuum, like a blackhole. She rolled her eyes. All her brothers. At least Ron seemed somewhat embarrassed, especially as she raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"It's good," Ron shrugged, reaching for another handful.

Ginny rolled her eyes, depositing the sugared nut-thing onto her plate. It clattered loudly, but no one seemed to hear. Those businessmen in the corner were still muttering darkly, but their sunglassed-glance didn't seem to make it to the half-empty Weasley family banquet table. As always, Fred and George were plotting, their little powwow circle an inward tilt to their heads and the way their hands were spelling out plans. Percy was still asleep, cocooned safely under his sheets with his Prefect badge nestled to his face. Charlie was probably showering off from another excursion, another exciting adventure into dunes or pyramids or fighting sphinxes or mummies. Ginny wondered if he would be as good at magicking his cuts away, or if he would forget to disguise a black-and-blue or a scrape. It would be a problem, then, for him to come to the table. He wouldn't realize the blood trickling down from his sliced hand or wouldn't limp on the clearly-sprained ankle - but Mrs. Weasley would notice, and Mrs. Weasley would make a scene that would make the businessmen and their sunglasses pay attention, that would make the waiters pause in their rounds and the guests crane their necks towards the commotion.

As always, at the head of the table, Molly Weasley was worrying, her favorite pastime.

"Have you seen Bill?" she asked her husband who sat at her left hand.

Mr. Weasley looked tired.

"He's probably sleeping in," Mr. Weasley replied, helping himself to some eggs. He could tell that she was worrying, he could see it in her impatient shiftiness, in the way that her chair looked uncomfortable, in that too-familiar crease forming above her brown eyes. Mr. Weasley helped her to some toast, hoping to distract her with some food, but she picked at it, ripping the brown crust and scattering it along her plate, the way she had when the family had fed ducklings in the pond, the way she had to feed the children when they were younger. But these scraps weren't edible; they were nervous tears, nervous rips. They continued long after the crust was gone.

Her fingers worked quickly as her eyes darted across the table, scanning her children's faces for mischief, scanning the neighboring tables for danger, scanning the sky for weather. Her glance lingered disapprovingly on the twins, who were now causing miniature explosions in each other's hands. With each bang and puff of purple smoke her eyebrows knitted more, the crease burrowing into her freckled face.

"It's not like him," muttered Mrs. Weasley to herself.

"What are you talking about," laughed Mr. Weasley. He sounded concerned only with his orange juice. "The twins are always lighting _something_ on fire."

"No, not them," muttered Mrs. Weasley. "Bill."

Her eyes were now darting to the waiters' faces as though they were about to sprout fangs, or as though he son was masquerading behind an apron to avoid her family - his family - their family.

"It's not like him to be late," muttered Mrs. Weasley. But that was a lie. What was like him? It had been years since they had waited on Platform 9 3/4 together; it had been years since they had Floo'd into Diagon Alley together and waited for his slippered-tread down the main spiral staircase to breakfast.

Mr. Weasley gave her a look as he spread jam across his toast, the movements calm smooth. She fidgeted in double time to his gestures, an accelerating double time the scattered more and more torn scraps of bread onto her plate.

"Charlie, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley grabbed him before he had a chance to sit down. He looked down to see her fingers digging into his forearm.

"Good morning, Mum," he muttered sarcastically, his tone light-beat and joking, as always. "It's not even nine, isn't a little bit early for this already?"

She shushed him, glaring at his cockiness.

"I hope that's decaf?" he laughed, appealing to his father and glancing at the coffee-stained mug that was at the right hand of his mother's place setting. His father offered him a frown, a silent reminder to take his mother seriously.

"Have you seen Bill?" his mother asked, her eyes locked on a single target: her son. Her intensity was almost desperate.

"Not yet this morning," Charlie laughed, reaching over his mother's plate to serve himself a muffin off of Percy's plate. "Maybe the mummies got him."

Mrs. Weasley huffed at him, and gave him a look that made it clear that option had already been considered and dismissed - at least, mostly dismissed.

"You want me to go look for him?" Charlie asked, sighing into his blueberry breakfast.

The grip loosened; the gaze was calmer.

"You want me to go look for him." He repeated, the question gone. He sighed again, and tossed the half-eaten muffin down onto his empty plate.

* * *

Charlie jogged up the stairs, managing a rakish smile at the maid down the corridor (which was returned with a blush). He skirted room service and ducked the try, offering yet another grin as he danced quickly around the corner, quick on his toes and limber like a dancer.

"Bill," he called, pounding on the door with a closed fist. "Bill." To his surprise, the door swung open as the foot his hand reached the door for a third time.

"Bill?" he continued, slowly peering through the open door. "Mum sent out the search party... and the search party is here."

He strode into the dark room, shuffling his feet loudly, squinting into the darkness.

"You know Mum," he replied. "She just needs to know that you haven't been eaten by beetles or something."

He paced towards the bed, completely nonplussed by the silence.

"I just need to see a Bill and say that I did."

He reached over and pulled the comforter back, flinging it backward. But even in the dim light, all he saw was a river of ebony hair, the curve of bronze, and the burning gaze of two dark eyes.

"You're not a Bill." The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.

"No," she replied, a long, drawn-out tone that was husky and was like smoke leaving her lips, a breath of steam.

"Done with the shower," came the towel-muffled voice of Bill from the bathroom's doorframe. He froze, his towel falling from his face. His hair stuck up like orange straw. Charlie's eyes spun over to his brother, the room an intermediate blur.

"Charlie." The word escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

"Mum's looking for you," Charlie replied, his hand falling limply, an echo of what it his task had been. He scowled towards the carpet and continued gesturing. Somehow he couldn't stop, like the command from his brain was a broken record, stuck on repeat.

"I'll be…" Charlie began, his voice fading as his eye-line tracked over to the immodest Neti, who was reclining in bed with a catlike look of interest in her dark eyes. He imagined her twitching her whiskers and tail, and felt his face grow warm with anger, and knew the way his freckles were spreading across his cheeks.

Somehow he found his way to the door, like walking through molasses, like he was numb, like his brain was somehow functioning without his body, or without his mind.

* * *

"Ham?"

Charlie jumped. He was suddenly at the table, with his father passing him a platter.

"Nnnn..."

He couldn't even manage a complete word. Percy gave him a look over the table, a glare that was sleepy and knowing at the same time. He hated that, hated that sympathetic glance, and forced himself to take some food and shove it numbly towards his face.

"I hope you saved some," murmured Neti, sliding into the open chair beside Percy and winding her arm languorously around his out-stretched arm to grab the grapefruit half off his plate. She took a spoonful and smiled teasingly at Percy, the spoon between her lips. He flushed. Her mission completed, she turned back towards the other end of the table.

"Slept well?" she asked. Ginny glanced at Ron, wondering if the question was meant for her. At Ron's blank glance, she aws reminded. Who else would be addressed by Neti in that sugary sweet, condescending tone?

"Fairly," Ginny qualified. Resignation. She was the little princess to be patted on the head.

"Don't like dates?" Neti inquired innocently, staring at the discarded sugared fruit on Ginny's plate.

"That's never been a problem for her," laughed Mr. Weasley from his place across from Neti.

He was surprised when the Egyptian girl turned to look at him, her eyes locking in on new information, new clues, new secrets to unravel.

A wary looking Bill appeared a few moments later, falling into his seat at the front of the table as his foot caught on the leg of the table.

"We should get ready," Neti replied, standing. Her grapefruit was an empty skin, carved quickly with the toothed spoon.

"We're going to need lunch packed," Bill called from down the table, tucking a napkin under his chin and beginning to vigorously shove food in his face. "I'll be done in a moment."

"Slow down, Bill," chastised Mrs. Weasley. "Charlie can help Neti gets the baskets ready while you eat."

Charlie glared at Neti; Bill glared at his mother. In the middle of all the chattering businessmen and the laughing of the fountain and the wind-sand overhead, there was a silence between seven redheads and a single smirking brunette.

"Come on, silly," Neti said, winding her way upwards and over to grab Charlie's bicep. Charlie stood slowly, regarding his brother far across the table.

"Don't forget to get some fruit for your siblings," Mrs. Weasley reminded him by way of dismissal.

"Mmhmm," Charlie replied, words escaping him, but this time in a different way.

* * *

"The kitchens are this way," Neti replied laughingly, tugging on the Charlie that was trudging silently down the wrong corridor.

"Yeah," Charlie replied, turning slowly. Walking through molasses, his mind not connected to his brain.

The kitchen workers were like ants, organized motions of intricate dances to refill pitchers for the Muggle room, grabbing steaming plates, charming dinner rolls and levitating loaves of bread to fly overhead towards the dining room.

"Oranges?" asked Neti, tossing one to Charlie. He caught it slowly, watching her carefully. She seemed at home in the bustle, in the confusing, wending her way towards him, reaching across him, her arms entangling him and catching him against the wall and as she prepared sandwiches and poured canteens of juice and found yet another fruit for the basket. He watched in silence as she placed these in a bottomless sack, the kind that a single draw string and extension charm that could disappear a Weasley-family sized lunch into Neti's palm.

"You're very quiet today," Neti observed in her sultry whisper, her slow phrase spoken into the depths of the cabinet.

"I'm tired."

Two short, clipped words were all Charlie could manage as he stared at her back as she leaned upwards and into the cabinet in search of whatever she was trying to find. He tried not to follow the curve of her extended body, the curve that began at her tiptoes and slithered up the river of her dark hair to her gracefully extended fingertips.

"You don't seem like the type to be tired," Neti replied, turning and flicking her eyes over him. Those dark eyes drifted over him, slithering slowly up from his toes as he seemed to slowly fill with the heat of a darker blush.

In response, Charlie made a low rumbling noise, a dismissal, a negation, and turned to go over to the far side of the kitchen, tasking his feet to move without a plan in his head, just to move. To move away from that heat, as though he could walk away from the blush that was staining the tops of his ears and his cheeks like a bad sunburn.

But Neti was faster, because she had a head on her shoulders and wasn't fighting the way the air had become molasses.

"Your collar," she said simply, reaching up to fix it. He watched her hand, watched it find his shirt, tuck it inwards towards his neck, watched the fingers land, butterfly-light, on the exposed curve of his neck.

She was staring at him, as her hand drifted slowly across his shoulder. All he could do was stare, his lips slightly parted, as her fingers locked around his shoulder and pulled him towards her.


	5. Soldiers

Neti wound her hand between Ginny's fingers, a mothering grasp that surprised as much as it steered.

"You do not like our 'floo,'" Neti cooed, her voice strange on the familiar words, twisting them strangely with her inflections and the way her voice whispered over the syllables.

"Go with me," she continued, her voice strangely compelling, a foreign whisper of sandalwood and jasmine and vanilla. It made Ginny shiver. Hello, Ginny, my name is Tom Riddle. Goosebumps trailed her spine.

But those fingers that grasped hers were warm, and that was reassuring, especially against the tearing waters of the Nile that forced her around as they pulled her matter apart and spun it to a new destination.

"Do you remember the hieroglyphic?" asked Neti, honey in her voice. Mrs. Weasley stepped back, softening her mothering ferocity. The older sister Ginny had never had. How nice. One could almost visibly see the wrinkles fading from her worn face.

"A stork?" Ginny replied, suddenly shy in the presence of this older, prettier girl. The girl who could fight mummies and saved her brother – probably on a daily basis – from horrific torture.

"Good," murmured Neti. She lifted Ginny's free hand and began to trace her finger through the air, an awkward motion that Neti made fluid and graceful, rounding the pear-shapes and turning curves with practiced ease. Without the water and the sand, nothing happened, but it was comfortingly nonetheless. Comforting in the way practicing magic without wands could be, the dry run, making sure everything would run smoothly.

"Alright?" Neti inquired softly. Ginny looked uncomfortable, uncomfortable by how much she didn't trust this girl but at the same time wanted desperately to follow in her footsteps. She couldn't meet Neti's eyes, so she looked around, to where the twins were resolutely ignoring everyone and staring at something they had hidden in their hands; to Bill and Charlie who were standing as far away as they could without drawing attention, their body position mirror images, leaning away with arms cross and eye line along the horizon, tapping feet completely. Confused as to why she would elect to hold hands with someone she had referred to as creepy not five minutes ago.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Neti cooed at Ron, who blushed and seemed to tether his eyes to a comfortable distance. His eyes looped inwards, landing somewhere along his toes. "I'm sure your mother can help you tag-along."

She smiled sweetly and Ron's ears reddened. He didn't catch the demeaning tone but only saw the girl almost twice his age smiling at him.

"Come on, Ginny," murmured Neti, pulling gently on their intertwined hands. Ginny followed slowly, trying to walk in the same lounging footsteps, the same smooth, dancer-like movements. Luckily, whenever she stumbled, Neti's fingers tightened on hers.

* * *

The Nile waters were still rushing in Ginny's ears, and she shook herself like a dog experimentally cleaning its ears.

Neti swirled her fingers through her hair, spreading the diamond drops of water along the sand, as though she were enjoying the feeling as much as Ginny was trying to ignore it. As Ginny's ears cleared, she glared into the sunlight, fighting to see the pyramids that crested the horizon. Occasionally, out of the yellow glare, flashes of white sung out, little pinpricks like sudden stars. The tourists, along the pyramid, snapping pictures. Ginny turned her glance away from the frivolity, from all the rubbernecking. Muggles, who only saw bricks and age and sand-weathered stone.

Neti's hands found Ginny's shoulders and directed the younger girl away from the sun and the pyramids.

"Always look where they don't," she instructed gently. Sure enough, Ginny saw vague shapes along the horizon.

"What are those?"

"Do you not have ghosts in Great Britain?" Neti inquired gently. Ginny made a noncommittal noise, and stared off into the sandy horizon. Sure enough, there were pale silvery shapes. But these looked different, more sinister. She could not see Nearly-Headless Nick. All she saw was the edges of the wrappings, the silver-shining of medallions that were so foreign and strange she felt herself shiver again in the dry heat of the Egyptian sun. They were lined up evenly, too evenly, along the horizon. Her eyes could make out dome shapes, one for each figure. Shields. And the arcs of bows. They were soldiers, all of them. The ones buried with the pharaoh to protect him, and now they were ranking an invisible border around the pyramids. She shivered again, despite the heat.

"The… Muggles," Neti explained, her voice fumbling along the strange word, "they sometimes see. Or else," she laughed, huskily chuckling, "they think they do." She broke off, staring at the ghosts as one would stare at a childhood home. Ginny paused, a feeling of unease shrinking along her skin. The ranks were still. Inhumanly still. The wind scattered capes that some were wearing, but beside the unfurling of the ghostly-silver fabric, they could have been stone.

"At first, they hated it," Neti laughed. Now she spoke of the ghosts as though they were her pet puppies. If Ginny had been able to look away from the ranks of soldier-ghosts, she was sure she would have seen the soft smirk that Neti favored, the crinkling by her eyes. Amusement, as always. Fondness of her country. And appreciation of something that was making Ginny's skin crawl.

Ginny was silent, hardly daring breathe as Neti's warm breath whispered the story like a secret, her fear contaminated by a childish excitement. A ghost story.

"They hated the flash and the noise of these foreigners. But now…" she broke off with a sardonic expression, that eyebrow of her rising slowly again towards her hairline.

"Now?" asked Ginny.

"Like us all…" Neti seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "They have learned…" Neti had turned away from the ghosts, as though her story was done. But Ginny was not satisfied. It was as though she was purposefully leaving parts out, stringing Ginny along. Ginny realized that, but couldn't help her curiosity.

"Learned what?" Ginny asked. But in her haste, the spell that Neti's careful voice had created was broken. Now Ginny was not captivated; she was cross. Neti was hiding the truth again, covering everything with her little smiles, those Cheshire-cat looks. The twinkle in her eyes wasn't charming; it was deceitful.

"Your mother is here with your little brother," Neti replied.

"He's older than I am," Ginny replied. Try as she might, her arms crossed defensively without her conscious command and her eyebrows snapped into place over her eyes.

"My mistake," Neti replied airily. But there was something in the curve of her lips that made it seem like she had made that mistake on purpose.

"Is that it over there?" asked Charlie, striding over through the sand. His steps kicked up waves of the bright shards of glass; by Bill's expression, it looked like he had caught a face-full of it.

"Yes," Neti replied, slithering in her sinuous way over to him. "Oh, Bill, will you show your father how to get around to the north-face?"

Mr. Weasley had wandered off to go tour – his interest the camera-weilding Muggles, not the pyramid. Bill sighed to himself and trudged off, muttering curse words to himself in Latin, a trick he had used as a language-savvy tween to avoid reprimands from his mother. Part of him was ashamed to be reverting to his childish ways; he glanced back at Neti, embarrassed. She raised an eyebrow at him as though she understood, but there was wicked twinkle in her dark eyes that brought a rosy-tinge to Bill's ears, despite the way that Neti's hands were tracing patterns on Charlie's shoulders.

"Follow me," she whispered conspiratorially to Charlie as Bill's frame retreated and disappeared into the sandy horizon. And in a moment the two of them had disappeared towards the sphinx that lay parallel to the pyramids.

* * *

"Can we head back now?" Bill muttered. He knew his quiet – albeit frustrated – comment would go unnoticed. His father was no speaking animatedly with a group of Asian tourists. Despite the fact that the family was speaking perfect English, Arthur Weasley was animatedly pantomiming and speaking in loud, clear syllables as though this would make them suddenly understand. Bill was unsure whether it was the race or magic barrier that was confusing his father so much.

"Cam-er-a?" Mr. Weasley was practically yelling.

"We have a Nokia," the father was saying helpfully. "Shall we email you the J-PEG? Or do you prefer a different format. Maybe PDF?"

"No-key-uh?" Mr. Weasley repeated loudly. "J-PEG? P-D-F?"

"Dad, c'mon." Even when Bill wrapped an arm around his father's elbow, Mr. Weasley was still in his own universe.

"Do you have an email address?"

"Home address?" Mr. Weasley repeated too-loudly, trying to make sense of it.

"They're talking about the internet, Dad."

"Bill, don't be foolish," Mr. Weasley laughed, smiling at the tourists. "This has nothing to do with fishing."

The Asian family was now looking a little uncomfortable.

"Let's go, Dad," murmured Bill, louder this time, loud enough that the family heard. "It's alright," Bill told the family. "Thank you for the offer. My dad isn't very high-tech."

The family smiled politely, pretending to understand. But it was clear that they were doubting Mr. Weasley's sanity.

"Nice to meet you," Bill called in his sing-song voice, waving to the parents as they walked away, herding their children protectively and glancing over their shoulders as though Mr. Weasley was a rabid animal.

"How intriguing Muggles are," smiled Mr. Weasley jovially. "Look at that one over there!"

He trundled off excitedly towards a pudgy woman in pink shorts who was enthusiastically waving around a camcorder. He was now getting strange looks, especially from the English-speaking tourists – but even from those who clearly did not understand a word he was saying. For starters, he was not interested in the pyramids; instead of looking at one of the seven wonders of the world, he was pointing at particular individuals in the crowd and pointing and smiling.

"Daaad," Bill was calling. He sounded like his thirteen year-old self, when his father had tried to get him to flirt with another girl. Daaad, he had called. Embarrassed, his ears stained pink.

* * *

"Are we going into the pyramid?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Of course," Neti replied huskily, offering her trademark smile. It was quickly diverted to Charlie, but Ron didn't notice that. Charlie did - or at least, his cheeks said so.

"I bet it will be amazing," Ginny breathed, in awe of the mastery and strength of the wizards, the wizards who had constructed these magnificent tombs - and their magnificent curses.

"Ginny!" Neti's voice was surprisingly sharp. Mrs. Weasley looked up, as though she had ownership of the mothering, angry tone.

"What?" Ginny was surprised how surly she sounded, even to herself. And suddenly she had lost control of her eyebrows and arms, and was standing there, glowering defensively.

"You should not go in there," Neti scolded.

"Why not?" Ginny asked, more frustrated with the condescension than ever.

"Why not?" Molly Weasley echoed, sounding frightened and worried.

"Ginny," Neti crooned. "The curses on these tombs have done horrible things to those poor Muggle archaeologists." Her voice was sweet, but each phrase seemed swallowed by a triumphant grin.

"Like what?" asked Ginny, her interest piqued.

"The curses are… unseemly," Neti allowed, trailing her fingers along Charlie's shirtsleeve.

"Unseemly how?" Ginny couldn't stop herself from asking – but her interest was her mistake.

"Ginevra Weasely, you are not going into that tomb!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"But Mum!" Ginny asked.

"No buts! End of discussion! You'll wait outside!"

Ginny pouted, scuffing her foot. She had forgotten about the sand; it rained down on her, making her crossness into discomfort.

"And you stay right behind me," Mrs. Weasley continued, now extending her finger angrily towards Ron.

"Mum—" he interrupted.

"Ronald Weasley!"

The two children sighed, dropped their heads, and accepted defeat from their mother, as always. And Neti smirked to herself, running her hands along her blushing Charlie.

* * *

"Ready?" Mr. Weasley sounded happily winded, like a child who had just run through a candy store.

"You stay with Ginny," Mrs. Weasley commanded.

"Of course," Mr. Weasley smiled. "I'll make sure she doesn't get lost in the tunnels." He chuckled to himself, but he was the only one who found his joke amusing.

"Outside," snapped Mrs. Weasley.

"Outside… here?" Mr. Weasley was dumbfounded; he gestured toward the sand, unsure of what constituted outside.

"Yes, she's been through enough, without being traumatized by mummy curses!" Mrs. Weasley was now causing a scene that made Ginny's ears burn in an unfamiliar way that she was more likely to recognize on her brother.

"Neti's right," sighed Bill, who looked tired from babysitting his father. "This temple is considered to be more… graphic."

Mr. Weasley made a noise in the back of his throat, running a hand through his thinning orange hair. Despite his interest in Muggles, he had clearly wanted to see the magic side of the pyramid, too.

"I can wait by myself," murmured Ginny. She scuffed her foot in the sand, scowling until her face hurt.

"It's for your own good," crooned Neti, stroking Ginny's hair. Ginny jumped in surprise. As always, she hadn't heard the Egyptian sneak up behind her and was surprised to feel the dainty fingers on her hair.

Ginny turned her back on her family, wrapping her arms around her body like she could squeeze herself until her face turned purple. Like when she was little, holding her breath until she got what she wanted. Whether she was holding herself together or squeezing the air out of her lungs, she couldn't tell.

When she turned around, her family had vanished and she was standing alone in the shadow of the Great Pyramid.


	6. Weasel

A/N: Hi everyone! I know it's been a long time... but I plan on getting the last parts up soon... so thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Sulking stopped making Ginny feel better when she started to feel thirsty. In a twisted way, this new sensation made her feel better – her discomfort fueled her anger, rekindled those feelings of resentment. It showed that what her family was doing was wrong, wrong in a physical way, against nature.

Would her parents continue to baby her just because she was lonely and made one bad decision? Even Harry Potter had trusted the diary; even Harry Potter had written to the suave Tom Riddle the pages had held... But she wasn't Harry Potter. She was just another Weasley, sweating in the hot sunlight and hating her fair skin for burning so badly.

Standing around sulking wasn't going to make her feel better, though, and it would just prove her parents that she was a baby who need time-out. Instead, she would make the best of it. She was a witch. She would make her own water. The trace must not work in Egypt…

But before Ginny could perform her underage magic, she saw a flurry in the sand by her left foot. Further inspection revealed the silver top of a canteen, which was rising from the sand like a beetle unearthing itself.

When she lifted it and opened it, she saw a small hieroglyphic chain activate and Neti's voice spoke from the spell.

"It's for your own good," the crooning voice of Neti repeated again, followed by a sickening noise that was probably meant to resemble a kiss. Ginny made a face, and screwed the lid back on.

She managed to stay angry for another few moments, but finally thirst took over and she untwisted the lid. The little carved images glowed blue again.

"It's for your own good," the voice repeated. Ginny took a long gulp, making sure not to let the glowing blue metal touch her lips. After she had drained it, she felt it grow heavy again as it magically refilled. Of course Neti would have thought of everything.

And so, she stared off to the horizon and tried to wait as patiently as she could.

* * *

Being alone in the shadow of the Great Pyramid began to give Ginny a strange feeling. At first, she was convinced that someone was watching her – maybe a harmless ministry official, or perhaps a lost tourist. But the desert was flat all around her. Finally the sensation became too creeping to feel benevolent, and the need to turn around almost uncontrollable.

That voice in her head, the one that spoke with Hermione's voice, reminded her that she was being stupid.

"You're being foolish, Ginny Weasley," she muttered aloud. But saying the words only made it seem more real. At first she tried sneaking glances surreptitiously, which only intensified the feeling – she always seemed to see the edges of white fabric whipping just out of her gaze.

Eventually she had enough and whirled around, wand drawn.

Her face nearly impacted the tall, silvery-figure. He seemed nearly twice Ginny's height, and he was so close that Ginny could feel that cool, ice-water ghost-sense emanating from him. She tried to keep her face bland, but betrayed her fear by staggering backwards a pace.

The ghost did not speak. He watched her, and she stared. Eventually she acknowledged the ridiculousness of her fear; he could do nothing. Indeed, his beautiful features revealed no animosity. Unlike Neti, there was no anger, no badly-hidden resentment. Instead, he appeared fascinated, the sort of clinical fascination Hogwarts professors sometimes entertained when Ginny perfected yet another spell.

After another few breathless moments, Ginny was able to move her gaze away from his face and her curiosity took over. He was bare-chested and appeared to have constellations drawn in some sort of dark paint over his body. His fingers linked on a sort of scimitar, and it glinted maliciously in the sunlight.

As he moved the weapon, Ginny flinched, but quickly realized that the ghost was merely pointing at the crowds of Muggle tourists.

Ginny followed his pointing weapon then turned back to him.

"Am I one of them?" she asked, trying to make sense of his question. He stared at her, and she at him. "No," she tried to answer, shaking her head, holding up her wand. "I'm a witch. Or sorcerer," she amended, trying to remember what little she had learned about Hogwarts about ancient magic.

The ghost stared her. His calm face could have been carved out of stone for the emotion it betrayed. Again he gestured at the Muggles.

"Of course, now why would an Ancient Egyptian ghost speak English," Ginny muttered to herself. You're being foolish, Ginny Weasley, the voice in her head repeated.

There was a flurry of sands. Ginny blinked, and when the clouds cleared she saw her ghost friend flanked by a line of a dozen similarly-dressed, similarly-calm companions. They had used the rush of wind to mask their movement, and now were too-close for comfort, a ring of imposing silver figures.

Again the ghost closest to her gestured.

Sighing to herself, Ginny glanced down at the sand only to see a set of two pairs of footprints. She quickly realized they were her father's and Bill's, from their short expedition around the pyramid.

"There?" she asked, pointing. The soldier-ghost nodded, curtly, and in a sharp movement fell back into ranks.

Ginny glanced around and noted with unease that the ring of watching ghosts had tightened. They now stood shoulder to shoulder, and she could see them tracing a perfect circle around her, with the Great Pyramid at the center.

She couldn't help but shiver as she turned and followed the footsteps to the Muggles.

* * *

Even the tourists seemed to realize that something was not quite right. To Ginny it was the prickling sensation of nearby dementors, but she could not explain that to the picture-snapping Muggles. Instead, she shuffled along and tried to blend into the crowd. Standing alone made her appear lost and confused; that would attract attention. Instead, she wove between the families and camera. Occasionally she took a picture for a couple. More often than not, she pretended to see her family just behind the bend in the crowd.

And every so often her eyes caught on the ever-tightening ring of ghosts.

Explanations gave that voice in her head something to fixate on. Perhaps it was the twins; that was likely. Foolhardy, foolish. Something silly. Neti had mentioned that the ghosts were proud, proud like her. At least, she had meant that, meant that in the way her voice had trailed off and her black-outlined eyes had narrowed, catlike once more, in tantalizing secrecy. Perhaps they were playing tricks on the mummies, or laughing at the mutated Muggle skeletons. Perhaps they were dishonoring the pharaoh housed there, and the ghosts were growing restless with anger at the insults.

Or perhaps Ron had gotten lost, and seen a spider, and gone running through the tombs in fear. And perhaps the ghosts were moving in to listen, to make fun of the silly orange-headed family with their silly little children.

Or perhaps Neti had…

That very thought process made Ginny grow so pale that an elderly American woman stopped her and offered her some water.

"I'm all set, thanks," Ginny replied as normally as she could manage, holding up her ever-refilling canteen. To prove the woman she was alright, she took a sip.

"It's for your own good," the sing-song voice taunted her.

As she paced, she fiddled with the cap, trying not to listen as the message re-started and cut off and then began again.

As the ghosts drew closer, the tourists began to leave, as though sensing their cold presence. The sun was drawing to midday, and that was the excuse Ginny heard many of them voice aloud. But she knew that it was the haunted feeling that was driving them away in large busses and in small packs. They seemed to disappear like mist, until finally Ginny was the only breathing being outside the pyramids and the ghosts were an arm's length away from her.

* * *

At first, she thought it was merely another ghost that had darted forward, and she tried to ignore the flash of silver.

But as it resolved into a Patronus – a silver weasel – she threw herself onto the ground to better hear it speak.

"Ginny," it said, the little jaws moving. But the voice was not that of a small furry animal; It was the breathless voice of her father. "I'm afraid we've had a bit of trouble. Get help."

"Dad?" Ginny asked. The Patronus was not something that Lockhart had covered her first year; in fact, she hadn't heard of it, only knew it vaguely from something she heard somewhere.

"Get help," the Patronus repeated, whisking its weasel tail in agitation. "Had a bit of trouble. Get help."  
Whether it repeated its message she was unsure; suddenly she had gone deaf from a pressure in her ears, a pounding that didn't seem to originate in her chest but rather shattered every edge of her body. She felt like a cymbal.

The Patrnous pawed the ground, but then began to fade. She stared at it, helpless, until it disappeared.

A ghost – she wasn't sure if it was the same one – was suddenly at her shoulder. It took her a few moments to process the chill he emanated. Before the sudden proximity of him would have been unsettling, but now she just felt numb.

Her hearing was returning, gradually, but with it the panic increased. Get help was the message. Was she meant to use a ghost? A ghost that spoke no English?

She sighed to herself, but the noise came out ragged, as though her lungs were in spasms as well. Her diaphragm seemed to be stuttering on the air.

Her fingers felt numb; she looked down to see them trembling. A bit of trouble. What did that even mean? It's for your own good, Neti had said. What bad was she avoiding on the outside of the pyramid?

Her fingers seemed to buzz. Even her eyes seemed unable to focus. They had left her alone. She was alone. And now there was trouble – real trouble. If her father asked, it was real.

The ghost at her shoulder was a flurry of movement, but she could not process it. He was in her peripheral vision, a spot of silver that was slightly out of focus. When she didn't respond, he moved in front of her. First he pointed directly at Ginny, than the pyramid. She gave him a look, waiting for her eyes to focus, as though he brain may be able to catch up, and he repeated the gesture.

The canteen clanged at her side, and she realized what Neti had meant. It was for her own good: the water. She could floo – or whatever it was here – back to the hotel. Neti had trained her in the hieroglyphic until she was sure of it. All it took was water and that simple movement.

And her father had said get help. If he was asking her, her family must really need it.

Her hands were now shaking more, the buzzing increasing to real tremors the threatened to creep up her arms. Her family was relying on her. This was her moment. If only she weren't Ginny Weasley.

In this moment, she wished she was Harry Potter.

But Harry Potter wouldn't get help. Harry Potter wouldn't ignore the clear wishes of the ghosts. Harry Potter wouldn't go running back. He would know that Neti couldn't be trusted, and getting help would be something for her good.

Harry Potter would march into that pyramid and save everyone himself.

The trembling in her hands subsided; they were still as she formed them into fists. A stupid gesture, she realized in that Hermione-voice-in-her-head. She wasn't going to fight the pyramid with a few untrained punches.

She turned to the ghost and nodded. He didn't seem to understand, but when she drew his wand he began floating off in the direction of the pyramid. She looked down to watch his progress and realized with vague shock that he was barefoot. For a long while she stared at his immobile feet as they drifted over the sands. Stared at the anklet that shimmered there, stared at the loops of metal that traced up his calf. For warriors, the ghosts were spectacularly adorned. It was almost ritual attire. She wished desperately that Professor Binns had spent more time on Ancient Egyptian Sorcery...

As she followed in her trance-like state, she occasionally paused to navigate the path. While the ghost floated through, unrestrained, she had to limbo under a restraining fence and clamber over some barriers.

Abruptly she realized that her guide had stopped about arms-width away from the great stone foot of the pyramid. He glanced at her, a sideways look as though to make sure he had captured her attention once again, and then pressed his ghostly weapon to the box-like stone before him. The large block glowed silver, and suddenly the one above it, and above that, stretching a silver road of glowing blocks into the air. They stopped at a void. History class: Professor Binns had explained the entrance carved into the pyramids. The Descending Passage - or Ascending, Ginny wasn't quite sure. But it mattered little; she realized that the chink in the face of the pyramid would be the entrance by which she could find (and hopefully rescue) her family.

As the ghost moved his blade away, the glowing faded, but Ginny knew the path. She hesitated barely a moment, and then clambered onto the rough rocks.


End file.
